The Worst of Both Worlds
by bryswym
Summary: Growing up in Miley's shoes isn't as easy as it seems. My story of Miley's childhood.


**A/N- Hey, everyone! **

**This is a totally random story that I found written in a pocket-size notebook in my closet. It was originally not a fanfiction, but decided to make it one. I was going to write it for Twilight, but I realized that I've had enough Twilight. So, my friend suggested Hannah Montana.**

**I'm not sure where this is going… but I guess I'll just make it up as I go.**

**R&R!**

**I don't own Hannah Montana.**

_I didn't know._

_I heard the sound of the heart monitor mute._

_I didn't even look up from my coloring book at the time._

_The next thing I heard was the sound of my mom crying. Both my parents came up to me simultaneously, their eyes overflowing with tears. They looked at me like I was supposed to know what was going on. I glanced back at them, puzzled._

I set my pencil down and sighed, momentarily out of my trance. My literature teachers had asked me to write down my earliest memory. Unfortunately, this was mine. I mean, seriously, wasn't your earliest memory a little private?

It's been almost 12 years since I went down that road. My parents had dragged me to the family therapist for the third time that week. She said if I kept sitting there silently, she would make me go every day.

Consequently, I opened my mouth and told the nice lady everything. Everything from the beeping to the crying. I didn't know much of what was going on, so really, the therapist was pointless. But I was satisfied with the coloring books. From the other side of the couch, my mother and father beamed. When I was finished, I took a deep breath, pushed it into the box in the back of my mind, and locked it. This wasn't something I needed to think about. Besides, I hardly knew my sister. When she had died of cancer, it was barely of any concern to me.

So that is the reason why, now, opening this box was hard for me. After watching endless home videos and looking through endless photo albums, I knew as much as I could about her. I learned that she was everything like I am now. Beautiful, smart, talented, everything I dream of in a big sister. My parents told me that Miranda had big dreams of being a famous singer, just like I did. We would be best friends. Never fight and always have each other's backs.

But I tried to make myself care. I tried to relate to her. I just couldn't. I could make myself imagine her, but I couldn't miss her. I couldn't miss someone that I barely knew.

I mean, seriously, what kind of 16 year old girl doesn't care about her dead sister? No. Wait. I don't need an answer to that.

The bell rang and I checked the time. Whoa, 9:40 already? I gathered my books and headed out of the classroom.

All day, I kept thinking about it. I had the vague idea that once the box was open, it would stay open. For a long time.

So much had changed in that year. Our family had gone for four to two in a matter of weeks.

**Flashback:**

A few weeks after my sister died, my mother couldn't take the pain and suffering, so she ran away from it. She left my father and me to fend for ourselves. Or that was what I was told.

But, when I was fourteen, the truth came out. I walked into the house from voice lessons, ecstatic about hitting the high note in my favorite song. Mail in my hands, I went into the kitchen. The delicious smell of our Sunday pasta was in the air. Before putting the stack of mail on the table, I spotted a letter, right on the top. It was addressed to Mr. Robbie Stewart, my dad. I glanced at the envelope and noticed it big red letters yelling for my attention. I instinctively opened the letter. As I slid it out the envelope, it almost tore my heart out.

The words screamed,

_Robbie,_

_I don't know how else to say this, but your wife is having an affair._

I tried to read on, but couldn't. The words weren't making sense to my small brain. I told myself that my mother would never do that. But when I thought back to those sleepless nights, listening to my parents scream at each other, everything clicked.

That was the worst experience of my life. Just thinking about it made me sick.

**End flashback**

I hazily made it through the rest of the day, not really paying attention. I ran off my bus, anxious to get out of the cold, snowy weather.

"DAD! I'M HOME!" I screamed. I was immediately greeted by my dog, Sandy, who licked my leg eagerly.

I smiled and thought back to how I had first come across Sandy.

**Flashback:**

I ran out my front door and through the crowded streets of New York City. These streets were my sanctuary. They were better than my house, naturally, because I didn't have to face anyone. After a few minutes of running, I ducked into an alleyway, sobbing quietly. Suddenly, someone tugged at my hair. I shook my arms in the air, motioning for whoever it was to go away. They didn't need to share my misery.

I put my hands back into place, realizing that this method wasn't going to work. When the tugging continued, I forced myself to life my head from my hands. A stray, straggly, dirty, but adorable golden retriever looked at me with pleading eyes. I wasn't sure if it wanted to me to shut up or give it food. It wasn't as thin as stray dogs, and its matted fur wasn't as matted as strays were.

The dog licked the tears off my face, and soon enough, I was laughing. I reminded myself that I couldn't get close to anything, because life would just let me down, and quickly walked away. My attempt to that had failed, and the dog was following behind me.

I ran faster, and the dog ran even faster than me. I was faced with the fact that this dog was going to follow me home.

When we got home, I made it a bowl of water and set out to find some dog food. I returned, unsuccessful, the dog was halfway done eating through our trash.

**Endf flashback**


End file.
